American Psycho: Overtime on Wall Street
by RatPack2002
Summary: Patrick Bateman is back. He is now the CEO of Pierce and Pierce and has managed to control his blood lust, that is, until now. If you are a follower of my writings, this one will probably be the most grotesque yet, so enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

American Psycho: Overtime on Wall Street

**Intro of a redeemed killer:**

I live in the American Gardens Building on W. 81st Street on the 11th floor. My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm 47 years old. I believe in taking care of myself and a balanced diet and rigorous exercise routine. In the morning if my face is a little puffy I'll put on an ice pack while doing stomach crunches. I can do 1000 now. After I remove the ice pack I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the shower I use a water activated gel cleanser, then a honey almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Then I apply an herb-mint facial mask which I leave on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use an after shave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion.

Many seem to think that reaching 40 is an acceptable age to stop caring about your body, since its heading into its decline. I find this belief to be most incorrect. With all of today's cosmetic supplies and cosmetic alterations, there is simply no excuse to not look your best at any age. Closing in on 50, I still maintain my body of a 30 year old. I have botox injections annually at my plastic surgeon's office, Madro Iglasias. His methods are unique and most of all, extremely pricey. To look your best, you must sacrifice certain things that society has deemed vital to existence. Cigarettes, chocolate and all of the other garbage that fat middle aged house wives pollute their bodies with cannot be ingested to look ones best.

I also believe in keeping my mental state of well being evaluated and monitored by a team of therapists. I see 3 different ones each week. There is Dr. Hutchinson, a young woman in her 30's with a hint of a New England accent. She seems to think that I hide who I really am, by making up fantastic realities that succumb to my needs and desires. My other shrink, Dr. Willington believes I am clinically depressed and wish to inflict harm to myself and others, third, and certainly last is, Dr. Worthington. He is an older man, 75 years old to be exact. He claims that I am emotionally unstable and am waiting to go off like a ticking time bomb.

They are all wrong. You see, a man of my stature on Wall Street goes through hell on a daily basis. I am totally competent and level headed during all of the hours of my profession, did I mention that I am the CEO of Pierce and Pierce? I have worked their for 20 years now. I started when I was 27 and just finishing up my MBA at Harvord. My doctors all attended less prestigious schools, Yale. UCLA. Boston College for Christ's sake. My old therapist, Megan Barmes went to Harvard, but was a dumb bitch. I crucified her on top of the World Trade Center on August afternoon. We met up for dinner and I lured her up there. You see she was suffering a mental condition called the Nightingale effect. Doctors shouldn't fall in love with their patients. Come to think of it, no news of the recovery of the body was made, it was the August before September 11th 2001, she may very well be listed as one of the victims of the terrorist attack.

Ahh, I remember that day well. I had 3 bags of Orville Redenbocker popcorn while watching it on my 70" Toshiba plasma screen in my office…..it was a laugh riot. 3,000 people lost their lives that day, and that was just the terrorist attack, I helped add to the death count by performing a few murders myself. There was the hotel maid from the 4 seasons. She was an old hag, probably Mexican, or El Salvadorian. I borrowed a scalpel from my plastic surgeon and gutted her like a piñata in an ally while she was emptying a waste basket into a dumpster. After I gouged out her eyes, I heaved her hefty wrinkled body into the dumpster so the sanitation workers could toss her body with the rest of the trash. The next, was a violinist playing on some street corner. I threw a quarter into her case, and urged her to play an old tune from Les Miserables. She fucked up on the third note, so I pulled out a beretta 9mm and put a tight shot group in between her frontal lobe. Her reaction was bizarre, her hands still played the music on her worn violin or was it a viola. I don't really know, or let alone give a fuck. Anyway, her hands continued to deliver notes, while her legs gave up and buckled beneath the pressure of her body collapsing to the ground. I kicked her face until it imploded. Ruining a pair of Armani leather shoes is a sin, but using them to cave in ones skull is….scrumptious. The third wasn't really as important, some Aids carrying hooker I beat with a led pipe from a construction site I explored.

My therapists don't know anything about me. My confessions are right under their noses, yet they go unnoticed. I am waiting for the day one of them calls the police to have me arrested. But they never do, never. My blood lust has become a hobby. Some people collect antiques. Some play video games. I kill, I eat human organs, I play in blood like a small child playing in a puddle. You see, it completes me. I've tried other things. Models. Yoga. Writing blogs, but it just fails to complete me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hollywood Garbage and the down fall of society**

I remember a time when movies came out, and captivated audiences. Since the mid 1990's this has been happening less and less. Everything is a remake, Hollywood has lost all originality. Not every director, just most of them. Seqeauls and remakes. Just labeling a movie another title, when in fact, it's the same movie.

I just went to see the newest summer blockbuster, Superman Returns. Superman has always captivated me. I never read the comics often but the premise of Superman is an easy one. Strange visitor from an alien world comes to inhabit Earth. He develops unfathomable powers to fight evil, stand for truth justice and the American way. Superman Returns failed to mention "The American Way" because too many liberal thinking assholes are ruining this nation. They ok pedophiles to run the streets. They ok drug dealers to leave prison early to contaminate the world. It sickens me. All of this negetiveness has found its way into the movies we pay to watch. Christopher Reeve was Superman. This new guy, whatever his name is, is nothing but a shell of a human being. No acting talent what so ever. After the movie, I stomped a small Pomeranian to death and cut its paws off with a saw on my Swiss Army Knife and put them into the cup of a begging blind man on 1st and Hawkins. The fucking slob ate them and thought they were chicken Mcnuggets. I thought it was hilarious, and gave him a dollar. The law clearly states that all dogs will be on a leash, I consider this to be a good Samaritan act.

**All Work and No Play makes Patrick A very dull boy**

My limo pulls up front of Pierce and Pierce, where I have been the CEO for 3 ½ years now. Things have changed from when I first started, a lot of my collegues that started out with me, are now gone. Some have moved to other firms, some are 6 feet under, and at least a few of them have never been found, I buried them on Coney Island under the boardwalk, the smell of puke and cotton candy drowns out the rotten smell of a corpse like no other method I have ever tried. One of the many nameless underlings I have accumulated through the years comments my new Armani Tie. The stupid fucker mistook my Gucci tie for an Armani, I will have Kathy, my secretary/ corporate assistant have a notice put into his emails, that he is being suspended. Such imcompatence will not be tolerated. Should he fail to miss comment my tie again, I will invite him to Tex Arkana and bring him home and have his kidneys chopped into an Atkins friendly salad. I fax random death threats to the White House, The Pentagon and an elderly home in Texas. With the help of a few computer nerds, our servers cannot be traced by the government, they were a good help, and even more fun to shoot one by one under the Brooklyn Bridge. It was like……shooting fish in a barrel. When it is 10:30 AM, I pack some documents into my alligator skin briefcase, from Nordstrom and head out for an early lunch at the Four Seasons Hotel, me and my friend Bryce have a reservation there at noon, but I want to run a few errands on the way. Bryce and I go way back, he used to work at Pierce and Pierce, but hit some kind of mental break down back in '87. He went to rehab, and traveled the country for awhile and started at Legg Mason. He usually works in Baltimore, but is on a business trip here to the Big Apple. Bryce is the only person I would put in the same sentence with the word friend.

**Meeting up with a few Friends.**

My limo is waiting for me in the parking garage, but I don't bother to call my chauffer, who is probably smoking cheap marijuana and getting stoned. Instead, I vie for a New York City Taxi Cab. The driver I hailed, is Iranian, or Afghani, I don't really care, weren't we suppose to be exterminating these people in the Middle East? I have to tell him to take me to the Bronx about 3 times. Stupid assholes, learn English if your going to work in the U.S. they have no right to be here. When he takes me to my designated spot, a dark ally in the Bronx, about 5 miles from Yankee Stadium, I pay him with a few counterfeit bills I ordered off the internet. His monkey like eyes light up in joy when I hand him a $100.00 bill and casually tell him to "Keep the change, Habib."

I watch as the cab lurks out of the neighborhood and head into the ally. A whino is sitting on top of an old beat up trashcan, his eyes follow me like a security camera.

"Spare change mistah?" The filthy whino asks.

"Sure." I reach into my pocket and pull out a small .38 snub nose pistol and fire it 3 times into his throat, from a distance of about 10 feet.

He makes a gurgling sound, which sounds a lot like a dog chocking on a bone, and keels over into a pile of diapers next to the trash can. I open the flap on my trench coat, and gently place the revolver back into my pocket, making sure the safety is on. When I begin walking again, I whistle the theme from the Rocky Movies, Gonna Fly Now by Bill Conti.


	3. Chapter 3

All work and no play makes me want to kill, maim and destroy

My newest client called me around noon while I was shopping at Nordstrom's in Manhattan. I was being fitted for an Armani when my Motorola RAZR begun to ring. The Motorola RAZR, although a bit old is still one of the best cellular phones on the market. It turns out that my client was unhappy with how Robert Young, a junior executive as handling his account. I took down the clients address, and told him to meet me at Dorsia's that evening. When we finished our meal, I took him uptown and cut into his spine with a steak knife I had stolen from the restaurant; his Jew blood would dull the blade of my own knife. After watching his body hem rage for awhile, I pretended the removed spine was a saxophone and jammed for about half an hour. I fed it to a pack of stay cats while I watched them eat the human spine; I urinated on them and laughed.

HA HA, I chuckled while watching the filthy ass lickers chew into their newest meal. After they finished I found a wooden pallet and dropped it on top of all 4 of them and squashed them to death……I need a vacation.

I decided to walk home, too make it interesting, I through a wad of monopoly money into a group of homeless people and watched them fight over it. What pathetic pieces of economically challenged shit!

I think I am going to burn down a black church in the country, just to see it. It is getting rather cold outside. Since I am doing so well at the gym, I stole an Almond Joy from 7-11, the Habib behind the counter was too busy praying to the elephant God. Only niggers are harassed for shoplifting, not Wall Street Executives. Business as usual.

I picked up a new book from the Barnes and Noble in times square, The Diary of Jack the Ripper. So far, I find it to be a festive, yet articulate romp about a man on a mission to save his world from the corruption of prostitues, beggers and the gentail herpe carrying swines of the English Victorian Era. I whipped my ass with a Koran in the bathroom, I hope the minimum wage making geek that finds that has a good time cleaning it up in the 3rd stall in their bathroom. Going on vacation in a week, after I discipline Mr. Young….I wonder if he remembers Huey Lewis and the News…Mergers and Executions can be a very, very emotionless and brutal business.


	4. Chapter 4

The Halloween Party

My vacation in the Bahamas was boring, to say the least. That area has really gone down hill and the threat of catching a VD is astronomical. When I returned home it was nearing Halloween. I purchased a devil costume from a party store in lower Mahnhatten. The whole thing is made of red velvet and the horns are made of ivory. A woman who was a peacenick told me I shouldn't have bought them because elephants are nearing extinction. I shoved an m-80 into her nose, after knocking her out and watched her head explode. It looked like a crazy teenager had taken a jar of jelly and threw it all over the place. The sound of people running and screaming reminded me of Les Miserables, the feeling I had when I first saw it in person long ago.

When I got home, I dressed in my devil costume. It somehow felt correct. I admired my buff physique in a mirror I had purchased while on a business trip in London. The vender who sold it to me at the auction said it was in the collection of Princess Diana. It is outlined in 24K gold that is arranged in a Germanic design, I theorize early rennisance. I had it appraised at Sotherbies, its worth $150,000.00 and steadily rising. There are only 2 left on the planet. I decided to wear my costume to Hugo Martin's Halloween Party in the Empire State Building. The look of people seeing Satan himself riding in the back of a limo was amusing to say the least. When I arrived at the party, I made my way to the punch bowl. It was a fake crystal one. Martin is such a cheap piece of shit. I took the punch bowl into the bathroom and defecated in it, while no one was looking of course. I returned the bowl to its place on the table and watched as small groups of people, too caught up in the moment drank the liquid and not notice the large bar of poop floating in it. It reminded me of the 1981 classic, and laugh riot, CaddyShack and a personal moment when I fed a urinal cake to one of my older girlfriends, I don't remember that whores name, wasn't it Evelyn? I don't remember a lot of the 80's I was so coked up.

I spotted a few hardbodies on the dance floor, I became erect, my boner was threatening to tear through the thin velvet like a roaring beast in a circus tent. I slowly made my way to the floor and rubbed my erection on one of their buttocks. She bumped into me, surprised. It hurt like the dickens. I punched her in the nose and listened to the cartilidge in it pop. She had a fake nose. That's another thing I cant stand, nose jobs. She screamed in horror as the blood dripped down onto her white costume, which ironically was an angel costume. I laughed with pleasure and walked off. It's fun being the bad guy.

I made my way over to a gaggle of Jewish attorneys, and went on and on how they were fully responsible for the death of Christ, how they caused World War II both stock market crashes and finished with all the effort they put in the pyramids was a joke, because they all looked like shit. Now I see why nose jobs were invented, those hook nose Jews need them like a human needs air to survive.

After my religious debating with the Jews, I made my way back to the dance floor to see if the hard body I had punched was still there. I only found a small puddle of blood, and a Mexican Janitor cleaning it up. I told myself there was always next time…Even Satan has his share of bad days.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Much Needed Vacation**

Going on vacation differs from 20 years ago. You can book your entire trip on your own computer. After watching some whore have sex with a donkey, I booked my ticket. I then went to wikipedia and read about Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne Gacey. I edited the information on the site, and added parts of them being heroes to American Culture. I also read up on Adolf Hitler, did you know that he was the inventor of the dradle? This what I wrote on his wikipedia page, anyway.

I took a drive to upstate New York, about 30 minutes East of Buffalo. The people are so backwoods and uneducated it is unfunny. I found an all black church and lit it ablaze and roasted marshmallows, and sang "_Joy to the World"_

Using my camera in my cell phone, the RAZR II, I took pictures of the firefighters putting out the blaze and uploaded them onto my Myspace account.

Joy to the world….

Sad news, Heath Ledger just passed away. A client of mine introduced me to him. We were going to catch a New York Knicks game at the garden, in his luxury box. I guess I'll have to return the sterling silver sledge hammer to the Home Depot. If they don't give me a refund, I'll make a nigger church of the place. People shouldn't overdose. Its wrong.


End file.
